


love and tumble

by hanshaped (Herra_Sombra)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Resolved Romantic Tension, ficlets inspired by dialogue prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herra_Sombra/pseuds/hanshaped
Summary: A collection of ficlets, crossposted here and on tumblr. Focused on Cherik, with possible appearances of other characters and/or ships. Various AUs, as well as canon compliant stories.Recent ficlets:1. “I love you, please, don’t go.” (College AU)2. “Stay here tonight.” (XMFC; Gay Mutant Road Trip)3. “Please, don’t walk out of that door.” (Post-XMFC, Pre-XMDoFP)





	1. “I love you, please, don’t go.” (College AU)

**Author's Note:**

> There will be information about every story in the notes at the beginning: the setting, rating, characters, etc.  
Ficlets are inspired by the prompt list from [this post](https://hellsdemonictrinity.tumblr.com/post/160523410875/angstfluff-prompt-list).  
Stories are proof-read, but not beta-ed, so I'd be grateful for any and all comments.  
Enjoy!  
  
**All ficlets:**  
1\. “I love you, please, don’t go.” (College AU)  
2\. “Stay here tonight.” (XMFC; Gay Mutant Road Trip)  
3\. “Please, don’t walk out of that door.” (Post-XMFC, Pre-XMDoFP)  


**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
College AU, No Powers.  
Pining, love confessions, sharing a bed.  


Why Erik agreed to go anywhere really does escape his comprehension.

“C’mon, the night’s youn’...,” a scratchy voice mumbles fervently next to him, and Erik has to suppress an irritated sigh.

The weight on Erik’s shoulder shifts dangerously forward, forcing him to stop and lean back so that he won’t end up splayed out on the ground alongside his swaying companion. It only serves to prolong the agony that is trying to get his drunken roommate back home. 

“You’re pissed, Charles,” Erik says through gritted teeth, his hold on Charles’s arm tightening. “The night’s already over for you,” he states firmly, picking up the slow pace to their flat, even as he hears Charles’s unhappy muttering.

It feels like ages before they finally tumble through the door and into the narrow hallway. Erik barely manages to maneuver them between the shoes scattered on the floor—he’s going to force Charles to clean it all up in the morning, that would be a fitting punishment—and he leads them straight into Charles’s room.

It was Charles’s idea—or rather Raven’s, really—that they all should go to the house party, organised by one of the former classmates of Charles’s sister. Raven had an ulterior motif, though, Erik’s sure of that, if her spending the whole evening close to her new friend, Irene, talking to her animatedly, giggling, and touching the girl’s shoulder, was any indication. But, as a result, she left her brother to his own devices, which inherently meant that Charles drank with a dozen of people he either had already known or barely just met. Erik himself downed two beers at most, not really being in the mood for partying, especially after seeing Charles flirting with some bloke. They only talked for a couple of minutes, with Charles quickly moving to another enthusiastic partygoers, and yet Erik couldn’t help but feel a burning stab of jealousy at the sight.

Of course, Charles couldn’t be more oblivious to Erik’s pathetic, unrequited crush.

Charles’s room is even more of a mess than the hallway, but they somehow make it to the bed in one piece, without any sprained limp or an unwanted encounter with the floor. Charles visibly tries to resist when Erik is stepping from underneath the man’s arm, but his efforts end up being futile.

Erik grabs the lapels of Charles’s coat and pushes it down his friend’s shoulders, gently, but firmly. Charles lets Erik take off his outerwear and shoes, falling unceremoniously onto his unmade bed as soon as they’re off, while Erik shakes off his own jacket. He briefly considers making Charles pull his shirt off too, knowing that sleeping in it will inevitably ruin it, but it isn’t the best idea, not when he has to forcefully quell the flutter in his chest.

Charles stretches leisurely across the sheets, like a slender cat, and looks up at Erik, his eyes half-lidded and glistening as if he’d just begun stalking a new prey.

“Goodnight,” Erik says decisively, before his brain has a chance to come up with any stupid ideas.

Turning on his heel, Erik is about to leave the room, without looking back, when a quiet whine stops him.

“Don’t go-o,” Charles wails, reaching out in Erik’s direction as though he wanted to grab him, but it’s clear that he’s in no state to actually stand up.

Erik takes pity on him and turns back around, stepping to the bed and leaning over.

“You’re almost asleep.” Erik tugs at the linen, freeing it from underneath Charles’s body, and drapes it over his friend. “And I’d like to finally go to sleep, too, you know.”

“You can sleep here,” Charles offers instantly, pulling the covers down to make some space for Erik.

His tone is rather innocent, though a mischievous spark in his endearing blue eyes leads Erik to believe that his friend’s intentions might not be pure at all. The suggestion sparks something up in Erik, something heated and thrilling, that he struggles to push to the back of his mind.

“Go to sleep, Charles.” Erik’s voice is clipped, and he tries to mask the heat that rises to his face.

“Don’t go, please.” Charles’s fingers sneak around Erik’s forearm before he can step away. The man’s grip is surprisingly firm when he begs, “Stay with me, Erik.”

Erik knows that he has to walk out of this room, the sooner, the better, even if the growing part of him wants to comply and crawl under the sheets.

“Charles,” Erik says warningly, pulling his hand gently away, but Charles’s grasp doesn’t ease.

“Please.” His eyes are sparkling, even if a bit distant, and he holds Erik’s gaze unwaveringly. “I love you, please, don’t go.” His voice is small, and yet he sounds so heartbreakingly sincere and desperate that Erik would take pity on him no matter what he said.

And yet, it is Charles’s words that actually catch Erik off guard, sending his heart into a frenzy. For a moment, he believes that he must’ve misheard; that it can’t possibly be what he’d like it to be. But Charles looks up at him uncertainly, his lower lip quivering slightly, and this vulnerability is convincing enough for Erik to slowly sink onto the bed, perching on its edge.

“Charles…,” he starts cautiously, searching his friend’s face for any signs that it might be just a joke.

He can’t find any.

Charles’s grip on his hand tightens, and soon Erik finds himself being pulled onto the bed, the move quick and determined. Erik allows it, slipping out of his shoes and settling next to Charles on the narrow mattress. There isn’t much space, so Erik has no choice but to curl an arm around his friend’s back.

As soon as he does so, Charles snuggles closer to him, a content sigh escaping his lips, his breath ghosting over Erik’s neck. He can feel goosebumps where Charles’s lips almost touch his skin.

“‘Night,” the smaller man mumbles almost inaudibly.

Charles’s breathing evens out not long after, and, after a few short moments, he’s fast asleep, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts, a swirl of disbelief and elation sweeping over his mind.

He doesn’t get much sleep that night, not with Charles pressed snuggly against his side, his confession still echoing in Erik’s mind.


	2. “Stay here tonight.” (XMFC; Gay Mutant Road Trip)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
X-Men: First Class, Gay Mutant Road Trip  
Angst with a happy ending, bickering, angry confessions, mind reading, forehead touching.  
**Warnings**: internalized homophobia, an instance of homophobic language (but only one)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Those stories were supposed to be between 100 and 1,000 words. Yeah.  
  
Clearly, I'm incapable of writing something short, so have what started of as a short scene from the XMFC road trip, but then escalated to 3k or so words of angst, a lot of emotions, and a lot of cheesiness.  
  
I hope you'll like it, because that was a wild ride and I'm not really sure about this story.  
  
As usual, proof-read, but un-betaed.  


“I must say, I thought you’d enjoy our stay in Chicago much more,” Erik’s words break through the haze of pain that Charles does his best to suppress.

Although Erik’s tone is rather mocking, Charles can feel the waves of worry coming off of him, the man’s mind buzzing with uncertainty and distress. It would be truly touching, how much Erik seems to care for Charles’s well-being, if only the telepath wasn’t in the middle of staving off a particularly bad case of headache.

“I do enjoy it,” Charles says firmly, though his voice sounds strained even to his own ears. “There is just so many people here,” he complains, falling into the bed in hopes that the shift to a horizontal position will help.

It doesn’t. Not in the slightest.

“There’s a lot of people at the compound, too,” Erik points out, a single brow raised sceptically, which is equally as annoying as it is endearing.

“But not as many.” Charles grunts, lifting his hand up to cover his eyes and hopefully cut off some of the unforgiving brightness of the ceiling lights. “I like big cities, but they’re exhausting.”

Which is true. He’s never been the one to despise the metropolitan hustle and bustle; at the same time, however, it has never failed to tire him out beyond compare, what with the incessant chatter of thoughts of all kinds; some joyous, some furious, some anxious. Too many emotions, too much information, and even his shields hasn’t been enough to keep it all out. As a result, he’s already ended up with a splitting headache, just two days into their stay in Chicago.

“Any way I could help you?,” Erik asks from the armchair that he’s just sat in, taking his usual spot at the table they’ve been using to play chess.

His room is just down the hall, but they’ve been spending most of the time at Charles’s, their heated discussions and close-fought chess matches engaging enough to keep them up long into the night. Not that there has been anything more to it, Charles muses somewhat forlornly. Erik has no idea about Charles’s less than desirable inclinations, and it’s best if it stayed this way as Charles would rather die than lose so close a friend, the closest person he’s ever got to, perhaps beside Raven, even if it is the most gorgeous man he’s ever encountered.

“There’s really not much you can do,” Charles mutters resignedly, trying not to think about the sharp cheekbones and the piercingly magnetic eyes. “I’ll just have to suffer through it.” He squeezes his hand around his temples, wishing that the soft pressure could somehow alleviate his pain.

“Ever as dramatic,” comes Erik’s cheeky remark, which Charles would probably appreciate much more if not for his agony.

“The pot calling the kettle.” His voice sounds rather small, and yet there’s a strain of annoyance to it that Charles would normally feel sorry for, but he doesn’t have the capacity for it right now, not when his head feels as though it was about to burst.

Charles is waiting for a witty retort, but there doesn’t come any. In fact, the silence stretches for so long that Charles is ready to soldier on and look up, despite the blinding light, as he cannot put a finger on what Erik thinks at the moment, the man’s thoughts humming lightly, yet kept at bay. Luckily, Erik chooses this exact moment to speak up.

“You’re not up for the game, that is?” It’s more of a statement than a question, even if it’s laced with certain uneasiness.

Squeezing his eyes tighter, Charles allows a small sad smile to curl on his lips.

“Oh, I’d love to,” he assures weakly, trying not to make any sharp movements, “but I’m afraid my game would be rather poor tonight.”

There’s another beat of silence, and this time Charles can tell that Erik feels rather troubled and unsure of how to proceed. Charles hears a quiet sigh, followed by the sound of steps which fades as Erik walks onto the carpet. Judging by the way the light above him fades somewhat, Charles assumes that Erik must be leaning over him, even if the telepath’s too tired to open his eyes and check.

“You look miserable.” Erik’s voice is much closer now, albeit softer and more sympathetic.

“I feel miserable, too, my friend,” Charles mumbles, his words barely coherent.

The bed sinks slightly next to him, the light brightening once again, and Charles almost gives in to the urge to turn to his side, away from where Erik is now sitting.

“Is there really nothing I could do?”

Charles feels a feather-like touch on his shoulder, which quickly vanishes. He has to force himself not to lean closer to his companion.

“No.” The word leaves his mouth more sharply than he intended, but Charles doesn’t find it in himself to care, what with his willpower seriously dwindling.

He knows what he really wants to tell Erik, and yet, at the same time, he knows it is the last thing he’d like his friend to hear. Besides, Charles is certain that it wouldn’t help now, not in the middle of their road trip, with nowhere to run to, and with that terrible headache.

“Are you sure?” Erik is relentless in his hunt for a solution to Charles’s discomfort, something that, were the circumstances more congenial, could even be quite sweet.

But all that Charles wants right now is to bury himself beneath the sheets in a futile attempt to make himself disappear. Well, that’s not exactly accurate, although Charles would rather avoid naming all those other things which he so strongly desires—like the touch of those lips, swollen from kissing, on his skin, those elegant nimble fingers running down his spine… 

Charles flops himself onto his stomach, struggling to quell the arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach. It’s ridiculous, really—his head is pounding—but his mind manages to conjure those images anyway—so inappropriate, so enticingly… wrong. A quiet groan escapes Charles’s throat. He knows all too well that the attraction to people of your own sex isn’t all that uncommon, and yet there is that venomous voice at the back of his mind whispering to him how unacceptable it is, how deviant.

“You’re testing my patience, Erik,” Charles mumbles into the pillow, pushing all those unwanted thoughts aside.

“You’re a liability to our mission in that state, Charles,” Erik states from somewhere above him, and if it was anyone else, Charles would feel a little hurt at the mere suggestion that he’s a liability. But it’s Erik, who tends to say such things to hide how much he truly cares, which didn’t escape Charles’s attention. Perhaps it’s even one of the reasons why he might be in…

No. He cannot let himself finish that sentence.

“If there’s anything I could do,” Erik continues, as close to pleading as he could ever get, clearly unaware of Charles’s momentary distraction, “I’ll do it. I’d rather not have you so—” _ vulnerable_, Charles can swear that he hears, the thought flowing seamlessly into his mind, though he’s not sure if it’s something Erik has unconsciously projected, or just a creation of his exhausted, aching head, “—unwell,” the man says instead, his voice somewhat strained.

With every passing second, Erik’s worry, washing over Charles’s mind, is much harder to bear. Charles isn’t used to anybody caring that much—even Raven, worried about him as she is, tends to get annoyed rather than envelope him with soothing thoughts. And Charles understands that, he truly does; it is frustrating and scary, after all, if you don’t know what to do to help somebody very close to you. So as not to burden anyone else with his troubles, Charles has quickly learnt how to face them on his own. Now, the fact that somebody might be that determined to soothe his pain somehow is, quite frankly, disconcerting. 

“That’s touching, truly,” Charles continues to speak to the pillow, not ready to lift his head and look at Erik just yet, “but trust me, you wouldn’t want to do anything of the sort.”

He’s so drained, tired of his headache and that whole conversation. There has to be a way to convince Erik to let go and simply leave the room, so that Charles can try to face him tomorrow morning, hopefully in a much better shape.

“I said ‘anything’ and I mean it,” Erik says sternly, his tenacity becoming genuinely irksome.

“Oh, for God’s sake…,” Charles grunts, quietly enough that he isn’t even sure if Erik has heard it, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when there’s anger slowly building up in his mind, encompassing it like a nasty fog.

“Don’t be stubborn, Charles.”

This time Charles cannot help himself and he turns his head in order to gaze up at Erik, the reins on his anger almost slipping.

“Really?,” Charles asks incredulously, his voice surprisingly cutting. “Who’s stubborn?”

Erik takes a deep breath, stopping himself from reaching over to Charles, his hand suspended halfway between them. It’s obvious that he’s on the verge of losing his temper as well, but in a rather out-of-character move for him, he manages to rein his emotions in, his whole attention focused on Charles, who belatedly realizes that his own quite uncharacteristic outburst might’ve had the opposite effect to the one he desired.

“What do you want me to do?” Erik’s voice is surprisingly patient, his expression calm, though his distress is evident in those kaleidoscopic eyes of his. 

Charles heaves a sigh, knowing well that Erik’s worry is warranted and his anger isn’t. Perhaps he cannot voice what he really wants aloud, but he should at least get himself under control, he owes Erik this much. After all, it isn’t the man’s fault that Charles has developed some undesirable feelings for him.

“You wouldn’t want that,” he mutters dejectedly, averting his eyes as he feels a phantom burning sensation in the vicinity of his heart.

Not seeing Erik’s face, Charles can only hear the hiss of his steady breathing, an old clock ticking somewhere in the background. The telepath hasn’t heard the latter sound before, but suddenly it’s all he can focus on, as if it could take him somewhere else, away from that conversation.

Erik’s voice puts him out of his reverie as the man says, a little exasperated, “How could you know if you didn’t ask?”

For a fleeting moment, Charles is under the impression that Erik can see right through him; that he’s aware of all of Charles’s perverse desires. That is a dangerous thought, however, sparking up too much of the silly hope which has still managed to bloom in his heart. He squashes it mercilessly.

If knowing what Charles wants from him is what Erik so desperately desires, Charles can give it to him and end this ridiculous charade once and for all.

“Stay here tonight. With me.” His throat is tight and feels as dry as if Charles hasn’t had a sip of water in ages. Despite all of that, his voice comes out exceptionally firm, not cracking even once. “Here, I said it,” he adds as soon as he sees the realization dawn on Erik’s face. This time his voice does break, hopelessly, so that he has to whisper the second half of the sentence. “Now you can storm out of the room, appalled that you’ve befriended a fag,” Charles spits out, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

He knows he shouldn’t say that. It’s hurtful—to him, to many other people. And yet, it’s easier if he says it; if he doesn’t have to hear it coming from Erik’s lovely mouth.

Erik stares at him for what feels like an eternity, his face nothing more than a blank mask. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t say anything, barely even keeps breathing.

“Is this what you think I would do?,” he asks eventually, his voice as emotionless as his expression.

Feeling himself breaking under the heaviness constricting his chest and the weight of that judging gaze, Charles just snorts, “Wouldn't you?” Erik’s mind seems calm, but there’s clearly something boiling under the seemingly tranquil surface. Charles doesn’t even want to take a look—he couldn’t dive in, not now of all times. “I shouldn’t…” He turns his head, burying it in the pillow, so he doesn’t have to watch Erik walk away from his room and from his life. “It’s wrong.”

Those last two words are so quiet, a barely audible murmur, that Charles is taken aback when Erik asks, “Do you really think so?”

His voice is disturbingly stiff, but Charles forbears from turning back towards him. He’s capable of enduring that conversation, keeping himself from falling into pieces, as long as he doesn’t have to look into Erik’s face and witness the inevitable rejection and repulsion with his own eyes.

“I can’t have this conversation right now.” Charles doesn’t even know how he manages to speak, yet the words flow out of his mouth tiredly, as if on its own accord. “Just— Go. We can have a fight in the morning.” He buries himself deeper into the sheets.

There’s a sudden shift on the surface of Erik’s mind and it flashes with disbelief, the myriad of scattered thoughts flying around like fireflies, too fast for Charles to catch, his throbbing head successfully preventing him from fully reading his friend’s reaction.

“How could you not know?” Erik asks unbelievingly, his voice remarkably quiet.

Charles can’t help but shift to his side, taken aback by that question. It’s not what he expected, and when he looks up to Erik’s face, he doesn’t find anything he anticipated either—only shock and… hurt?

“Know what?” Suddenly, Charles feels very small, racking his brain for a crucial detail he might’ve missed somewhere among the flurry of the past few weeks.

“You said you knew everything about me.” Erik remains tense, his eyes studying Charles closely.

“I might’ve exaggerated a little,” Charles admits, less bashful than he’d normally be, too tired to care about those things right now. Too tired to stand it any longer. He buries his face in his hands, saying from underneath his palms, “Now, if you please, I’d like to try to get asleep and inevitably fail, caught between my headache and my heartache.”

Charles is about to flop back to his stomach, maybe curl into a ball, when a pair of hands grasp his wrists, pulling them away. The light blinds Charles for a moment, but as soon as he recovers, he finds himself facing Erik, his friend's expression wary, but determined. 

"Charles, shut up,” he says forcefully, his mind buzzing anxiously, resembling a huge beehive, which does very little to help Charles ease his headache. “Normally, I would yell at you, but I’ll just say that you’re an idiot.” Erik sets his jaw, searching Charles’s face for a moment. “Get inside my mind,” he demands, his voice unyielding.

“You know I can’t— I wouldn’t—” Charles tries to explain, however, before he even has the chance to finish, he’s interrupted.

“Just do it.” And Charles knows that he won’t talk Erik out of it.

"Okay.” He nods, the skin of his cheek brushing against the pillow. Bracing himself for a wave of pain, he slowly hoists himself into a sitting position. He can’t help but wince when he feels the ache flaring up. “Here I go, then. Just, fair warning, my headache is quite bad, so if I’ll end up—"

“Charles,” Erik says warningly through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” the telepath relents, reaching to Erik’s temple with trembling hands.

As soon as his fingertips touch the soft skin, Charles feels his mind being surrounded by the whirlwind of thoughts of sensations, coloured with different feelings, dancing around him, some of them overwhelming him with their intensity. There’s a current of determination cursing around him, although there are streaks of cautiousness intertwined with it. After a long moment of marvelling over the strength of Erik’s feelings, not as jumbled and chaotic as his own, Charles becomes aware that there is something else behind that determination; something that he’s currently being pulled to. It’s Erik, Charles realizes with a start, who’s drawing him in that direction, as if he wants to show him something. Charles complies with this unspoken plea and what he finds is beyond his wildest dreams.

All of a sudden, he is swept up in a swell of something so intense, so passionate, and so warm that he barely resists the urge to pull himself out of Erik’s mind. Luckily, he stays there long enough to see it—or rather sense it, see it with his mind’s eye—his own face, almost alight, bathed in warm light, a pair of hauntingly blue eyes looking back at him with so much kindness and compassion that he doesn’t recognize himself at first. It can’t be him, that man is simply too perfect.

_ He’s not perfect_, Charles hears, echoing softly in his mind. _ But that’s why he’s beautiful_.

Unable to bear it anymore, Erik’s feelings too deep and astounding, Charles pulls himself sharply back to the present, back to the man before him who watches him carefully.

“Do you really think so?,” he hears himself ask, and only after the words have already left his mouth does he realize that he’s echoed Erik’s words from before.

This time, though, they are far from the shocked hurt that Erik must’ve felt at the moment. Charles’s voice is small, vulnerable, yet filled with amazement.

"_Oh, Kindskopf_…” Erik slowly reaches out and gently brushes a few strands of Charles’s floppy hair behind the telepath’s ear, clearly using this as an opportunity to stroke Charles’s cheek while retracting his hand, delicately, with just the tips of his fingertips. Even if he knew German better, Charles doubts that he’d be in the right mind to translate what Erik’s just said. And yet, he has a feeling that it wasn’t something particularly nice, though the way in which Erik said it, with so much affection, makes him question that thought. “How can someone so smart be so stupid?”

There’s a small smile curling in the corners of Erik’s lips, and even through the pain, which somehow ended up being pushed to the back of Charles’s mind anyway, the telepath can’t focus on anything else but that minute, yet enticing movement.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Charles asks, not even ashamed of how pleading his voice sounds.

Erik doesn’t mind anyway.

“I will,” the man says simply, leaning closer to Charles, close enough that their foreheads are touching.

Charles allows his eyes to shut, enjoying the warm and soothing feeling encompassing his mind. Basking in it, he notices that his pain is slowly letting go, tuning in to Erik’s mind providing him with a much needed reprieve from all those voices around him. It is a truly exhilarating discovery, that not only didn’t Charles give his friend a headache because of their mental contact, but his own actually alleviated. Or maybe it’s all been thanks to being surrounded by the purest, strongest feeling possible.

_ Love. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kindskopf_ — silly boy  
(Or that's how I'd translate it to English, at least; sorry, my knowledge of German is quite limited, so I'd appreciate being corrected if I'm wrong.)  



	3. “Please, don’t walk out of that door.” (Post-XMFC, Pre-XMDoFP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
Post-X-Men: First Class, Pre-X-Men: Days of Future Past; (kind of) canon compliant.  
Angst, nightmares, isolation.

“Your move.” A sad smile adorns Charles’s face as he says that, as though he knows that their game is already over and it’s not him who’s winning.

There’s only one lamp lit up in the study, bathing it with frail light, which does very little to dispel the darkness of the evening. Long shadows, cast by the furniture too lavish for Erik’s liking, enwind the room, falling over Charles’s face and obscuring it right above his nose. Because of the contrast, the skin of his chin seems even paler than usual, while his eyes are darker, scarcely visible in the gloom.

Something’s off about the eerie atmosphere that has set in the study; something almost otherworldly. It fills Erik with an irrational sense of dread which he can’t quite place. Normally, their evening chess matches—as competitive and heated as they can get—are rather pleasant encounters, ones that Erik finds himself enjoying much more than he probably should. Forming any kind of attachment is dangerous, the more intimate one even more so, he knows that, and yet he keeps coming here every evening.

With a quick flick of his hand, Erik moves the black queen, seeing as the game is coming to its inevitable conclusion. It sparks up a curious twinge of sadness in Erik’s chest, even though he should feel elated at scoring against Charles once more, and in quite an impressive fashion to that. Yet, when he looks up at Charles, the telepath’s face resembling more the one of a corpse rather than a living, breathing person, he knows that something is wrong.

The question is at the tip of his tongue, but when he opens his lips, something else comes out.

“You know I have to do this.” Erik’s voice is firm, and he surprises himself with how cold he sounds. “He’s too dangerous, for all of us.”

It’s as if his mouth is speaking on its own accord. For a moment, he has no idea whom he’s referring to, the man’s identity buried deep in his memories, until he recalls a conversation he had with Charles once upon a time, what feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s Schmidt that he means. He is the one he has to kill.

“Death won’t bring you peace,” Charles says resignedly, and Erik is taken aback by how small the man’s voice is.

Charles’s liveliness, something that Erik both despises and adores, is gone, replaced with unsetting dejectedness which worries Erik more than he’d care to admit. His mind doesn’t brush against Charles’s usually warm presence—there is only cold emptiness.

“You were right.” Charles makes a move, his knight falling straight into the trap that Erik set up for him a few rounds ago. It leaves Erik with one more move and that will be it. “They killed every last one of us.” Charles’s voice is emotionless, his gaze, uncharacteristically distant, trained on the board. His calm demeanor is a stark contrast to the image he paints with his words, which only serves to further confuse Erik. “I was so stupid not to listen to you.” The telepath leans back into his armchair, his hands falling limply into his lap. He’s still not looking at Erik when he adds, “You won.”

It’s wrong. Charles wouldn’t ever admit anything like that, not even if it became painfully clear that Erik was right after all. Ever an idealist, the telepath tends to cling to his beliefs no matter what, a virtue that Erik finds equally as admirable as it is foolish. In the end, however, he would rather fight fiercely with Charles about mutant issues till the end of their lives than see the younger man so hopeless.

“Are you happy now?” Charles asks him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

This time, their gazes meet and what Erik sees in those piercingly blue eyes makes his blood freeze. There’s so much pain there, hurt, and defeat, the dark circles underneath making it look all the more haunting, and Erik has no idea what to do. It isn’t until now that he realizes he would do anything to bring life back to the man before him. Anything, even if it leads to his own demise. The strength of that conviction is overwhelming, though it doesn’t surprise Erik, as though part of him has always knew about it.

Apparently unaware of Erik’s musing, Charles rises from his seat, clearly about to take his leave, in spite of the fact that Erik hasn’t declared checkmate yet. As soon as he turns around, however, stepping around the armchair towards the door, Erik notices that Charles’s sweater is torn on his lower back, something dark staining the ripped edges of the fabric. Only after taking a bit closer look does Erik realize that the dark substance is still seeping through, thick and maroon, and it can’t be anything else other than blood.

The deep gash, which Charles seems strangely unconcerned with, strikes Erik as weirdly familiar, although he doesn’t know why and how the telepath could even sustain such an injury. Despite that, Erik’s chest constricts painfully, even though it's not him who’s injured, his breathing growing shallow, as he reaches towards the leaving man.

“Charles, stay,” he orders through his abruptly tight throat, his desperation well hidden behind the sharp-sounding words.

Charles freezes midstep, remaining motionless for so long that Erik almost stands up himself. Before he can do so, however, the telepath slowly looks back, his face enveloped in darkness.

“You’ve already left,” he points out calmly, but his statement seems to pierce through Erik’s heart like a newly sharpened knife. “Now it’s my turn.”

“No, Charles.” This time, Erik does stand up, refusing to accept Charles’s words. “No. Stay.” He seizes the hinges of the door, making sure that it can’t be opened, and takes a decisive step in Charles’s direction.

Standing a bit closer to the telepath, Erik can see the man’s lips curl into a sad smile, but as rueful a gesture as it is, the gaze of the beautifully blue eyes remains distant. Charles only shakes his head resignedly, and the coldness of his voice is uncharacteristically cutting as he says, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Stay.” Erik is relentless, stepping even closer to his companion. He knows that there might be a way of stopping Charles, though he’s not sure if he’s ready for it. It takes an insane amount of strength for Erik to show his vulnerability as he sputters the one word he’s dreaded speaking so much in the past, “Please.”

However, despite Erik’s efforts, Charles just looks away and continues his saunter to the door.

“Goodbye, old friend,” he throws over his shoulder carelessly, his voice devoid of any emotion, while his hand wraps around the handle.

Although Erik still has a grip on the hinges, Charles seems to be able to open the door without nearly any effort, with the bright, almost blinding light seeping through the ever-growing crack.

“Charles!” Erik hears himself scream, a desperate edge to his voice. “Charles, please!” Despite the strong need to come closer to his friend, Erik feels as though he’s frozen, unable to move his feet even an inch. “Please, please, stop! Charles!”

As much as the thought of pleading terrified him before, he finds himself now repeating his pleas like a prayer, the one long-forgotten, and yet the one he knows by heart. However, regardless of how many times Erik says Charles’s name and how much he begs, the telepath appears to be unaffected, ready to take a step into the overwhelming brightness.

“Please, don’t walk out of that door!” Erik tries one more time, but all his pleads are in vain.

It’s too late—the light swallows Charles and impossibly flares up even more brightly, so much so that overarching whiteness becomes the only thing Erik can still see. Surrounded by that light, he feels the fear running in his veins, the utter sense of hopelessness practically paralyzing.

He’s afraid that he’ll never leave that suffocating place, floating among the blinding brightness forever.

And then he wakes up with a start. Opening his eyes, he realizes that he’s still surrounded by the white walls, overwhelmed by the empty feeling in his chest.

Erik sits up carefully, his gaze boring into the wall in front of him. His cell is just as small and as stifling as it’s been this whole time. It’s surreal that he’s already spent a couple of years here—he’s not sure if he remembers how the outside world even looks like, how it feels to breathe fresh air. He hasn’t seen the sun in so long, he’s probably impossibly pale, but it’s hard to tell in the bright cell.

He hasn’t seen  _ him _ for so long.

The dream has taken him aback, reopening old wounds that he thought he had left behind. Those beautiful blue eyes that he probably won’t see ever again, so dull and lifeless…

Erik doesn’t cry. He shed all of his tears a long time ago. Instead, he simply sits there, motionless, staring at the white walls for hours on end, wondering when the hole in his chest has filled with acid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one will be very fluffy, I promise!


End file.
